


The Growl

by Roughnight



Series: You. Me. Everything Else Is Irrelevant. [6]
Category: Dead Space, Into Darkness, Mass Effect, Sherlock (TV), Star Trek
Genre: AU, M/M, Realities, Time Jump, cross-over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:06:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roughnight/pseuds/Roughnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>.</p><p>A certain ringing truth should be known in this universe and in whatever universe there exists. John Watson was already a man spoken for and Khan has staked his claim.</p><p>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Growl

**Author's Note:**

> .
> 
> This chapter is yet again unbeta’d. I hope you forgive me for all the mistakes I may have committed. I promise to edit this and correct all the mistakes once the brilliant Noxtorious fix them for me. ^^
> 
> PS. I hope this chapter is not boring. This is all about the mind meld. **crosses fingers.  
> Oh, and congratulations to all Sherlockians! Our long, long wait is almost over! Let’s all not think about the impending 2 years (possibly more) of more waiting after we have savored the glory of all three episodes of Season 3! ^^
> 
> #SherlockLives  
> #r3spect
> 
> .

****

**~*~*~**

It was glorious. Mind melding was truly a wonder. It was a collision of colors, a whirlwind of sounds and an eruption of worlds. It was difficult to express the experience in words and do so with absolute accuracy—such is the sad flaw of translation and transcription. To simplify the matter at hand, mind melding was perhaps one of the few things that Khan would willingly submit himself into more than once and not feel bored about it.

 

It paled, however, when compared to the greater wonder that is the existence of one John Hamish Watson.

 

~*~*~

 

John was truly an exquisite and remarkable man. To think that Khan had gone a thousand years living and breathing without knowing that such being exists was unthinkable. The horror that he could have gone far more without even knowing of the stunning contradiction in the form of one ex-army doctor… If it wasn’t for the ‘ _distortion_ ’, Khan would not even have met him. He pushed the nasty thought at the back of his mind. That was something to ponder about much, much later. He was pretty much preoccupied with something far sweeter than the elixir of youth itself.

 

~*~*~

 

Mind melding with an Asari is different from that with a Vulcan. It was more elaborate, grander and deeper. Sharing minds with a Vulcan must always be specific, the thoughts directed in a linear flow—more disciplined and controlled. It was the total opposite of bridging minds with Asari. An Asari could simply suck the whole life story from you like a vacuum that can’t stop its greedy self from taking your whole background apart and feeding on it like a leech. Direction is but a pointless thing when you are faced with a raging ocean, the turbulent flow sweeping all that is on its path. It overpowers you, overwhelms you and steals any semblance of control once an Asari’s mind kissed yours. As it happened and as much to Khan’s utter surprise, it need not matter how an Asari’s mind worked. John Watson apparently was more than he was letting on. While the doctor’s mind isn’t as brilliant as Khan’s and as much as it was not in any way different from the ordinary humans’ most of the time, the man’s mind was unmovable. It did not get passed Khan’s notice how John Watson seemed to ride the torrential tides of the Asari’s mind as if it was the perfectly normal thing to do. The whole mental handshake was but a chore of preparing a good cup of tea.

 

John Watson’s mind was explosive and the manner in which he presented his thoughts was orgasmic, at least, in Khan’s point of view— _and he so dared hope_. There was nothing particularly extravagant in it. It started with something slow and soft. It was the comfort one wishes to have at the start of an awkward moment with someone foreign. It lulled one to an illusion of safety and with the more seconds that passed came the hardening of its grip. It was a bear trap decorated with fluffy pink foams and the soonest that the slow build had reached its plateau, it would be too late to turn ones back. You are caught deeply in it without hope for an escape on your own. You are at John Watson’s mercy and you would have to endure his presence. It was the perfect trap. For a brief moment, Khan felt like smothering the Asari, Liara T’soni, for having witnessed this piece of John Watson that Khan found he wanted to hoard all to himself. The galactic criminal quickly snuffed the thought before Liara could pick up on it and decide to terminate their mental connection. John Watson was a man so grounded that the earth beneath his feet would shatter and he would remain on the spot where he stood, with the space in between supporting his entire existence. John simply did not share, he poured—and he poured so graciously and so selflessly that his life almost bled out of him and rushed out along with his entire life story—his past and current musing during the time of his mind melding with the Asari. The Asari’s mind melding did not suck the images out of the human—John simply pushed and prodded and cut open himself so that everything came cascading down the mental bridge, tainting it with a piece of himself. Khan should really consider dealing with Liara sometime in the future. There was no doubt that even for the years to come, the Asari would always remember John Watson and continue to be endeared to the amazing man.

 

It shouldn’t be possible but Khan Noo Nien Singh could taste the sweat of John in the air, smell the man’s coppery skin and hear the rush of his blood in his own veins. That was how powerfully John Watson had commandeered the whole mind melding with Liara. Khan suspected that Liara found herself floored by a human’s engulfing essence—for that was what is was; John poured his very essence in the mind meld without a bucket to catch it. It made the criminal think of blood gushing out from an organic’s flesh and dripping onto the hardened soil. Khan did not see black. There was no darkness or void as he’d experienced in the past when he had first experimented with sharing minds to an Asari; instead there were colors—all kinds of them—from the blazing, glaring, blinding ones to the cool and gloomy hues—in every direction. Khan would simply tip his head and he would see a different side of the ex-army doctor. He would blink and another facet would be presented to him. Once, he saw the moon as John had seen it and as John had shared it only for the image to burn into a desert sun whose heat was unrelenting and sharp that it burned the skin. Khan looked down and witnessed the body of a wounded younger John among the dead. Then before Khan could properly drink in the scenery, the memory shimmered and changed and _, finally_ , Khan saw how the doctor met his controversial and most treasured friend.

 

The heart of the matter.

 

John Watson was a man of contradiction, a man with two sides and more. He was a beast himself yet he was also, quite repulsively in Khan’s opinion, a prince.

 

As much as Khan would have loved to suck everything he could at the moment, he had a priority—a mission that ate at him unless he uncovered the mystery. Years of successfully and gloriously existing had made him lose patience. He did not lie to John back then that he now had little taste for mysteries and puzzles, at least, not when he had just woken up from a cryogenic imprisonment. Taking a deep breath, he grappled with the images and divided the air in front of him with bare hands. Khan focused on a particular image, a specific strand of memory amongst the whole river of laces, took a plunge and surged through the memories.

 

And alas! There he was. _The Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes_. Then Khan witnessed as yet another side of John Watson was born anew and bled into existence. Khan couldn’t help but notice how the doctor seemed to be the loveliest and saddest since he had come in contact with his detective friend. John practically grew wings and owned the sky when he had Sherlock Holmes in his life. That was to say that he also plummeted down and had the hardest fall in his life when the universe took both his detective and his own timeline from him. Instead of simply facing the loss of someone important to him, John Watson has had to struggle with the aftermath of the _‘distortion’_.  And throughout these ordeals, the man emerged sane—murderous and without empathy for the others who were not Khan Noo Nien Singh, perhaps, but sane nonetheless.

 

The image of a broken John Watson during the first months of discovering himself in a frighteningly unfamiliar setting left a delicious taste at the tip of Khan’s tongue. The memories of the doctor when he was at the lowest and most punctuated point of his depression and when he was at the cruel and debilitating claws of his nightmares pulled at Khan’s heart. He savored the taste of sweat, tears and misery that rolled off on John’s skin. Khan had to accept it then and there that he was simply addicted on one ex-army doctor and the high that he could offer. All that glory stored in one flesh.

 

He wondered, albeit only briefly, it if could be considered acceptable to be jealous of one’s self for quite certainly, it was the case. Khan was drastically jealous of his own self. He had suspected it earlier, had practically deduced it by gluing together all the little sodding crumbs John Watson had either reluctantly given or carelessly let slide. In the end, though, it had been the photograph that nudged him into the right direction, even when it had seemed improbable at first. The striking resemblance between him and John’s _friend_ was in no way an accident. Khan Noo Nien Singh could never be something as trivial as an accident. Even a passing thought that someone who bore a cunning resemblance to him in any way, shape or form existed was abhorrent. It was an entirely different thing when that person was from another universe and was technically himself. The rush of triumphant relief he had felt to have all of this confirmed without the benefit of a repulsive doubt was like the smoldering, molten lava that burned his chest and surged in his guts. So grand and so overwhelming was the emotion he felt that it burned in his memory even when the relief only lasted for a fraction of a second and was quickly followed by the blinding and sizzling throes of jealousy.

 

True, he liked the sight of John Watson when he was in his own timeline, when he was sweet and adorable and painfully loyal. He liked the idea of the man running beside him under the silver moon, chasing after criminals and shooting men to save his life. He adored the image of the doctor tending to his cuts and bruises and making a good cup of tea in the chilly afternoon. He loved to see John Watson limping and being miserable when he was grieving for him under an alien sky, with aliens breathing beside him. John Watson was simply a man impossible for Khan Noo Nien Singh not to be enamored of.

 

But that John Watson was not wholly his. While it was him that John Watson chased criminals, had a good cup of tea and spent the moon with, it was not entirely Khan. It was himself in another world who had another set of ideals and hobbies—who lived a different life. While he found John Watson adorable and easy to love in his past, he wasn’t Khan’s. He wasn’t Khan’s in every possible way. **No**. Khan much rather preferred the John Watson who jumped time and who plotted and schemed and brooded continuously for three years. He wanted the John Watson who wanted revenge sought after the Universe that had been cruel to him. He wanted the John Watson who released the Necromorphs on the hundreds of people in the USG Ishimura just so he could get his hands on someone resembling a dear, dead friend. He wanted the John Watson who practically massacred sentient organics and who left for death a certain Starfleet officer that Khan happened to dislike, too. He wanted the John Watson who was prepared to mercilessly kill for him any time—one who was ready to brave the many Circles of Hell instead of not having a tiny piece of Khan to himself. He wanted the John Watson who lived through a nightmare and survived Khan Noo Nien Singh himself. He wanted the John Watson who was an ‘ _anomaly’_ , the one who rode the distortion of time and space.

 

 That was what it surely was, the very culprit of John Watson’s dilemma and Khan’s most unexpected yet joyful discovery of the man. The distortion of reality.

 

The final proof of his theory that he needed was irritatingly and _reluctantly_ the familiar face of his brother. Khan had seen a certain Mycroft Holmes from John’s memories that very much resembled his own brother with every minute detail up to his thinning and balding hair—the very same brother Khan knew was under the cryogenic sleep in a certain Planet Elcor at the moment. Khan shuddered at the fact that even in another timeline and dimension, he still suffered the most unpleasant and repugnant company of his brother. Perhaps he should consider leaving his brother’s tube in Elcor and disregard how his sibling’s mind could rival his own and could speed up the process of their colonizing the whole universe. Pity that his brother had creative ways of blowing up planets more than most of his crew.

 

The distortion of reality. He wondered how many times reality has already been spliced into. How many realities existed, he mused. It sounded ridiculous and it was almost improbable yet there existed two Spocks in one universe and one of them had years ahead of the other and possessed a very different past—a past that did not get altered in his own memories even when he had come in contact with his younger self.

 

Khan had to give credit at how John’s mind could be sleeping one moment then turn dangerously creative the next. He had to marvel at how John had most probably arrived in the same conclusion as him when he would bet that the latter had no proof. The ex army doctor did not have the same deductive abilities he had. John had nothing but the holographic records of Khan’s past dealings to testify the latter’s brilliance and intellect and Khan’s image that resembled his Sherlock Holmes. John Watson had no proof. What he had was the instinct that he followed whenever his mind couldn’t seem to catch up with any plausible explanations. With nothing to lose and everything to gain, his mind leapt, soared and bounded, and accepted what would be mocked and sneered at and deemed impossible by many. How desperate John Watson must have been, his mind tortured relentlessly and his heart miserable and lonely, that he had come up with an idea that was most ridiculous and improbable. How he must have cried and seethed inside when he woke up every day to work and live even while his mind plotted and his heart longed. Khan wondered how many days it must have taken for a certain doctor’s affections manifested into a vengeful wrath. Khan should really kiss whoever it is that showed his profile to John. What were the chances that someone of a different universe would come across Khan’s records? John could have easily went on with his life and wandered aimlessly without even having heard of Khan.

 

Khan was a selfish man but he was a man of reason. He forgave John’s trespasses and he did not care whatever humanly reason propelled John to seek him out. A certain ringing truth should be known in this universe and in whatever universe there exists. John Watson was already a man spoken for and Khan has staked his claim.

 

Khan watched as his other self, Sherlock Holmes, jumped from the building. He witnessed how John Watson’s heart broke into a million pieces and were scattered by the wind.

 

“Stop.” Khan commanded and immediately the streams of images stopped. He felt rather than heard Liara T’ Soni’s startled gasped. Such was Khan’s mind that he did not lose even a semblance of control in the mind meld. His mind was like the foreboding calmness of a dark ocean under the merciless storm. He was cutting and piercing. He would not hide that it was such a shame that this particular Asari was brilliant herself. While Liara was overpowered, her wisely accommodating mind danced around Khan’s sharpness so that she would emerge from the mental link unscathed and whole. **_Such a shame, indeed_**.

 

While Khan gave nothing but his whole attention to every minute detail of John’s life, he dedicated particular attention to the seconds surrounding John’s disappearance—the moment of _distortion_ that allowed John to jump through time and _more_.

 

There was the blinding flash of light; there was the sharp drop of temperature and the shimmering of the air that surrounded John. The light was as blinding as the painful glare of the sun that John Watson had been forced to tear his gaze from Sherlock Holme’s falling body. It was to say that the ex-army doctor did not witness how the detective’s body kissed the ground. No matter how detailed the memory was in this mind melding, there was no way to experience what John Watson did not. As it was, there were a lot of things that Khan wanted to see but was not allowed to. All he had access with were what John’s point of view had.  It was little and next to useless but it was plenty when one had a mind as brilliant and cutting as Khan’s. John had regarded so many clues as useless and disregarded them like crap.

 

The shape of the shadow that Khan saw from John’s eyes amidst the explosion of light before the doctor promptly closed his eyes was in no way a product of imagination, so was the voice that called John’s name in a low timbre.

 

It tore a small grin on Khan’s lips.

 

Khan had everything he needed even when John Watson seemed to have let slip from his notice the most vital things. He could forgive the man’s flaws, he was a mere human after all, grieving and feeling lost at the aftermath. Khan was certain, though, that Liara had also picked up at the clue, the sharp Asari that she was. It was also quite possibly one of the reasons why she would deign to help John in any way that she can and assist even the renowned mass murderer. Sentiment was the prime suspect that motivates people to do even the most idiotic and reckless things and all sentient organics are victims of it.

 

Khan had everything he needed from this mind melding and more. The Asari’s ability made this mental connection possible but it did not in any way mean that Khan could not have the necessary control. If he sucked and stole a fragment of a memory or two from her, well, the Asari already knew all the risks she was taking in forming the connection with Khan Noo Nien Singh. The agreement between them did not extend to the authority of commandeering the direction of the mental bridging, after all.

 

Who knew what secrets he could glean from the Shadow Broker.

 

Liara’s cool admonishing voice barreled at his mind when she noticed the breach.

 

Khan hummed to himself remembering John Watson’s thoughts.  He’s got nothing to lose and everything to gain.

  
  



End file.
